[p28]
There he sate on a bough, with his keen glassy eye
Most sagaciously blinking and watching the sky,
Then he look’d to the east, and thus hoarsely he spoke,
“There’s a terrible storm coming up, croak! croak! croak!”
The soft cooing ground-dove creeps close to her mate
At this sound of alarm, which all living things hate;
The snake-bird is startled, and drops from her bough
To dive in the stream that runs swiftly below.
Whilst perch’d on a tree the wood-pelican’s dreams
Are disturb’d by the crane’s and the crying-bird’s screams.